Geezer Paradise (31 page)

             
"Sure, they're in the Wrangler," Willey said.

             
"I hope you know how to use them because I have a feeling Senator Buckland is going to know about this before we get back to the house.  If he doesn't know about it already." 

             
"You think the FBI will rat you out?" I asked. 

             
"I think Buckland has connections," Snydely said.  "If he was able to trace you through your cell phone records he'll also know when they're ready to prosecute him, and who will be testifying.  Just keep your eyes open."  We all piled into the Wrangler and hit the road.  We were going back to the safe house in Palm Harbor.  We turned left and headed back towards Alligator Alley.  We needed gas so I pulled into a gas station.  It was self service.  I had just gotten out and removed the gas cap when a red Cadillac came wheeling in behind us.  I saw right away it was Stevens behind the wheel.  I pulled my gun out of my pocket and yelled for Willey.  Stevens came to a screeching halt behind us, threw his car door open, and fell out flat on his face--gun in hand.  He still had his left arm in a sling.  Mary got him good.  When he looked up he saw me and Willey pointing our guns at him.  As drunk as he was he still had enough sense to drop his gun.  I scooped it up and stuck it into my waistband.

             
"I'm going to kill you two," he said with slurred speech. 

             
"Sure you are," Willey said.  "Right after we turn you over to the cops."

             
Willey took out his cell phone and called Eduardo.  He told Eduardo where we were, and Eduardo told us to hold on to Stevens until the FBI showed up.  We propped Stevens up against the fender of his car.  A few minutes later a police car pulled into the lot.  Before the cops could get out, an unmarked car pulled in alongside them.  Two men in suits got out and talked to them.  The cruiser pulled out and the agents came over to us.  One was a short, young Cuban, the other one was an older man who looked like he was ready for retirement.

             
The Cuban agent said, "I see you've captured Stevens."

             
"It wasn't hard," I said.  "He's legless.  He said he was going to kill us."  I handed him Stevens' gun.  "The only way he could kill us would be to breathe on us," I said.  The agent chuckled.  They cuffed Stevens and poured him into the backseat.  We watched them drive off.  I looked over at Snydely, he was shaking.                There was a Diner nearby.  I said, "Willey, try to get some coffee and a little food into Snydely while I finish gassing up.  I'll wait for you at the pump."  After Stevens' attack I didn't want to leave the car out of my site.  They knew where we were.  Stevens probably was waiting for Snydely to show up.  Willey went off to the Diner with Snydely.  Snydely was walking stiff legged.

             
When they came back Snydely looked a little better.  We put him in the back seat with Oscar and hit the road again.  When I looked in the rear view mirror, Oscar was standing on the seat with his arm around Snydely's shoulders.  Snydely didn't seem to mind.  Willey took out his cell phone and called Eduardo again to tell him the Feds had taken Stevens into custody, and we were heading back to the safe house in Palm Harbor. 

             
When Willey put the cell phone back in his pocket he said, "Eduardo wants us to drive back by a different route, and he wants us to go back to Tarpon Springs instead of Palm Harbor.  He says there's a chance Stevens followed us all the way here from the safe house.  He said it might be too dangerous to go back there."

             
I said, "I don’t think Stevens had to follow us.  I think Snydely is right, Buckland knew when and where the deposition would take place.  Stevens was here waiting for us."

             
"Lovely," Snydely said from the back seat.   

             
"We'll go home on the Tamami Trail instead of Alligator Alley," I said.  "We'll stay on it all the way to Naples.  From there it's a straight run up to Tarpon Springs." 

             
"You da boss," Willey said.  We headed south to Eighth Street in the heart of the Cuban district.  Eighth turns into Callee Ocho, and then into the Tamiami Trail, and runs parallel to Alligator Alley through the Everglades to the west coast.  We were headed back to Sofie's.

Chapter Twenty

THE TAMIAMI TRAIL was a slower, more scenic road than Alligator Alley, but the wide expanses of saw grass were still daunting.  Once in a while we saw an alligator or two.  An occasional flock of Snowy Egrets would take flight and circle the area.  The best part was it was daytime.  Only the occasional bug splattering on the windshield.  I had to wonder how the Seminoles were able to survive in this wilderness.  Between the heat, the alligators, the snakes, and the bugs, they must have had their hands full.  It couldn't have been a fun place to live.  I turned on the radio and settled in for the long ride.  At the top of the hour the news came on.  I was only half listening when I heard the name, John Flaherty.  Willey beat me to the volume knob. 

              The announcer went on, ". . . were reports today that John Flaherty had gone missing.  The owner of one of Florida's largest construction companies was reported missing early this morning by his wife, who hasn't seen him since he went out to buy a loaf of bread two days ago.  In a related matter, police have issued a warrant for Flaherty's arrest. So far the charge has not been made public.  The police say they are working in conjunction with the Attorney's General's Office."

             
"Sounds like he went on the lam," Willey said.  "Things must be heating up."  The newscaster continued, "Also today, Senator Buckland tried to push a bill through the Senate that would provide fifty million dollars to purchase wooden bows and arrows for Samoans living in Alaska.  Shortly afterward the Senator was escorted from the chamber by his handlers." 

             
That was good news.  If Flaherty was in hiding there was a good chance his company would put a hold on its projects--one of them being turning our park into a parking lot.  And it sounded like Senator Buckland was being sat on.  The ride went much smoother after that.  When we reached Indian country we started to see small stores by the side of the road, called Trading Posts.  Then there were the alligator wrestling attractions.  Tourists were filing in to see real alligators up close.  At the airboat rides we parked and watched the boats full of tourists fly through the saw grass, the airplane propeller at their backs pushing them on at high speed.  As always in the Everglades, the sun reflected the bright green of the bushes into the jet black water below. 

             
We continued on the final leg of our trip through the River of Grass.  As we came to another Trading Post, which were really just tourist trap gift shops, Willey said, "Barney, pull in there.  I want to get a postcard to send to Mary."  I parked and we all climbed out.  The sign said, "Billy Bowlegs Trading Post."  It looked like it could have been around for a hundred years.  Trees had grown tall around it and it had a front porch with a railing that was hand carved. 

             
Billy Bowlegs had been a Seminole Chief who lived about a hundred and seventy years ago.  He had raised banana trees in his village and was proud of them--until the Calvary came in and knocked them down.  Billy and his band of Indians retaliated by attacking and killing a group of calvery.  That started another of the three Seminole Wars.  I took Oscar by the hand and we went inside to look around.  Snydely got out and walked around to stretch his legs. 

             
The entire store was packed to the rafters with every kind of goods you would expect to find in an old time general store.  Judging from the thick layer of dust that covered everything, it had been there for a long time.  Behind the counter stood a withered, sun browned old Indian wearing a silk top hat.  He had to be the owner.  While Willey looked at the postcards I went up to the counter and said, "Hello."

             
"Good day white man, the Indian replied.  The old codger was really playing it up.

             
"You must be Billy Bowlegs," I said.

             
"Chief Billy Bowlegs the fifth," the old man corrected. 

             
"Have you lived here all your life?"

             
"Not yet.  I'm still alive."  The old guy was a character.  "He looked over at Oscar and said, Nice monkey.  Him make good soup."  I felt Oscar grip my hand a little tighter. Could Oscar understand what the old guy was saying?  Or was it just the way the old Indian was looking at him that made him nervous?

             
"Not really," I said.  "His name is Oscar and he can't even boil water let alone make soup."

             
The old geezer grinned at me.  He said, "You look just like a soldier I met during the third war."  He was talking about the Third Seminole War between the Seminoles and the U.S. Calvary.  That was a long time ago.  This guy was old, but not that old. 

             
"So I remind you of that soldier, Huh?  He must have been a good looking devil."  The old man reached under the counter and came up with a scalp--minus the rest of the soldier.  It was the real thing.  It was pinned down to an ancient block of wood, and there was piece of forehead still attached to it.  I was at a loss for words. 

             
The old Indian said, "He ain't so good looking since I took this from him.

             
I backed away from the counter and found Willey.  "Let's go." I said.  "I want to get home before dark."  I grabbed Oscar's hand before he became soup and we waited outside.  When Willey came out I said, "That old bastard wanted to make soup out of Oscar."

             
Willey said, "Did he give you the recipe?"

             
Snydely picked Oscar up in his arms and climbed into the back seat with him.  We got back on the road and finally we turned north toward Tampa.  I looked in the rear view mirror.  Snydely and Oscar were sound asleep, side by side.  Snydely had his arm around Oscar.   

             
It was after seven when we pulled into Sofie's driveway.  I was looking forward to some of Sofie's home cooking and a nice soft bed.

             
Eduardo had told Sofie we would be bringing Snydely back with us.  She met us at the door and welcomed us in.  "It's good to see you again, Mister Snydely, She said.  "I hope you'll forgive me for scaring you the first time we met, but I have to be careful.  Some of the people who stay here, their lives are in danger, and it's my job to protect them.  I hope you'll understand.  It was nothing personal."

             
Snydely still looked a little dubious, but he said, "That's quite understandable, Ma'am.  Think nothing of it."

             
"Thank you," Sofie said.  "Please, everyone sit down.  Supper is almost ready.  We all sat around the kitchen table while Sofie placed plates of steaming hot food in front of us.  It was pork chops smothered in a red sauce with mushrooms and peppers, and loaves of freshly baked bread.  Sofie fussed over Oscar, putting a bib on him and cutting his meat so he could eat with his fingers. 

             
Sofie kept looking at Willey's dark hair and beard.  Willey had to make up a lame excuse about looking younger for his new license photo.  We couldn't tell her we broke into Flaherty's house.  That would make her an accessory after the fact. 

             
The next morning Sofie went shopping for groceries.  We offered to pay for them, but she said she got reimbursed by the government.  When she came home we helped her carry in the bags.  She had a big smile on her face as she reached into her purse and took out two tickets. 

             
"I ran into a friend of mine who sells real estate," she said.  "She gets free tickets for different things and she gave me two tickets to see Tom Jones this afternoon in Tampa.  Are any of you Tom Jones fans?"

             
Nobody said anything, so I said, "Sure, I'll go.  I kind of like his music."

             
Sofie smiled and said, "Lunch will be ready in a few minutes."  We all went out on the back deck to get out of her way. 

             
"Looks like you got yourself a date tonight," Willey smirked. 

             
I said, "Shut up you old goat.  You're just jealous." Willey hee-heed.

             
After lunch Sofie came out of her room wearing a peach colored pull over jersey and jeans.  She had her hair done up in the back and I noticed she had put on a little lipstick.  We just stared.  She looked like a young woman--and her jeans fit her just fine.  "Ready?" she asked. 

             
"See you later," I said to Willey, Snydely, and Oscar.  I opened the door for Sofie and we were off to see Tom Jones. 

              The Pavilion was lit up like a Christmas tree.  Crowds of middle aged and older women were streaming in.  It was definitely an older crowd--nobody under fifty.  Tom Jones was sixty-five years old, and his fans were that old or older.  Sofie wasn't the only grandmother in the audience.  There were a lot of grandmothers there, and they were excited.  You could see it in their faces.